


I Think Our Stars Aligned

by Danes (orphan_account)



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Amputation, Disabled Character, Disabled Character of Color, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-22
Updated: 2014-01-22
Packaged: 2018-01-09 16:13:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1148044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Danes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carlos is an amputee who made himself a bionic leg. His leg has always been a source of insecurity and self-loathing, until Cecil came into his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Think Our Stars Aligned

**Author's Note:**

> An explanation of my headcanon Carlos. I got tired of explaining it so much that I wrote this fic. The ending might be awkward because I realize how much I hate past tense.
> 
> This fic is also for my [Carlos RP blog](http://botanyisnotscientific.tumblr.com/), who is an amputee but I've yet to actually implement this headcanon because I'm stupid and depressed and stressed yeah.
> 
> If you see any mistakes at all, please tell me. This fic was a little difficult for me to write because of my lack of inspiration. Also Cecil and Carlos are 37 in this fic.
> 
> Anyone who can come up with a better ending to this fic will be showered in bunnies.

I.

 

When he was 7 years old, Carlos was in a car accident. He was sitting in the back seat of his parent's car, watching the moon through the window as his parents spoke quietly in the front.

From what he'd been told after waking up from his coma, a group of teenagers had gotten drunk and gone for a joy ride on the wrong side of the road. The kids had escaped without a scratch; him and his parents, however, were another case entirely.

He didn't need the doctor telling him what happened; he could remember it clearly-- the shrieking of metal across the pavement, the weight of the car's entire frame slicing through his leg, revealing skin and bone, his mother's cries as she held him in her arms, begging for them to save her baby, her sweet baby, please just save her little Carlos, don't let her little Carlos die.

His father had died a quick, clean death-- his neck had snapped when the airbag had deployed; he didn't feel any pain. His mother had several large pieces of metal and glass in her spine; they said she would never walk again, but she proved them wrong, like she always did.

Carlos wasn't so lucky. The car landed on top of his left leg when it had flipped, shattering the bone and leaving his leg clinging to his thigh by bits of muscle and skin. There was nothing left to be salvaged, but what was left tethered the young boy to the wreckage-- they had to amputate his leg then and there to save his life.

The news of his miraculous survival became bigger and bigger as word spread around, making him the poster child for drunk driving; people donated thousands to get him a new prosthetic leg and physical therapy for him and his mother. Even a year after the incident, when his family moved in with his father's mother to avoid them, journalists still found ways to hound him.

It became worse when Carlos had built himself a working bionic leg.

 

II.

 

When Carlos first gathered his team of scientists for his expedition to Night Vale, he made one unbreakable rule:

Never, ever, ask about him about his leg.

Of course, the newer half of his colleagues were quite confused about this. They'd seen the more senior members of the team ask him how it was feeling today or if it needed any repairs. The more the learned about what to say, however, the bolder they grew in their questions.

Until Jackson had finally crossed the line a few months later.

It took four people to keep Carlos from slicing Jackson's throat with a scalpel, who had a terrible anxiety attack that forced him to resign a day after the incident.

 

III.

 

His second brush with death is the first time he truly sees Cecil.

This time, Carlos doesn't remember the pain-- God bless Teddy Williams and his miraculous assortment of drugs-- when the tiny civilization under the pin retrieval in the bowling alley invaded.

There are certainly things about Cecil one couldn't help but notice: his third eye resting just between his eyebrows; the vibrant purple (violet? He was never good with colors) irises that matched his tattoos/tentacles (Cecil's words, not his) and lipstick; the sharp fangs that gleamed whenever he so much thought of Carlos.

What Carlos saw was something he kicked himself over and over for missing after figuring it out.

 

IV.

 

Cecil had been aglow with joy (literally-- if it weren't for him, the shadow people would have been a much bigger problem while they were out) when he picked Carlos up, dressed in his horrid-yet-oddly-endearing-somehow furry pants.

Carlos wasn't a very brave man, especially when it came to someone so... out there, like Cecil. He was the kind of person who would have rather stayed at home, tucked in bed with a good book, than be with other people. And it showed; in the first hour of their date, Cecil would always have to pause and ask if Carlos was feeling alright, if he was absolutely sure he wasn't possessed by a malevolent spirit.

As the night went on, however, Carlos grew a little more comfortable and little more talkative. Cecil didn't complain when he'd babbled on or even suggested they do "tree science" (he would never live that down, not in a million years) after dinner, only watched him with a dreamy expression and murmuring agreement when needed.

In Grove Park, he explained carefully to Cecil, who sat in the grass beside him, what he was doing, as though he cared. The more he talked, the more he began to think that the man wasn't actually interested in his work, only in his looks, and not even that anymore.

Carlos stopped talking completely then, pressing his forehead against the tree he'd been studying. He doesn't hear Cecil get to his feet, but he swears he can feel his eyes burning into his skin and he wants to say sorry for fucking it all up he's such an--

Cecil's hand touched his cheek, filled with a sort of warmth he hadn't felt in years. He thinks the radio host is saying something, but all he can focus on is that warmth, as though it's the answer to all life's questions. None of his past relationships ever had such a warm touch; it was like they were cadavers, zombies whose only purpose in life was to drink and fuck.

"I want to show you something," Cecil said, breaking his train of thought. "It's something you've seen before, but never like this."

All he can do is nod and let the other man pull him along.

 

V.

 

The lights above the Arby's sign shimmer and change colours, like someone took the aurora borealis and compressed it into a dozen tiny orbs. Carlos can't take his eyes away from the lights. Cecil could burst into flames next to him and he probably wouldn't notice.

They're sitting on the trunk of Cecil's car, Cecil's head resting on his shoulder, hands entwined on Carlos's thigh. In the distance, someone is playing a banjo with a violin bow in tune to the crickets, who sing an unintelligible, but still beautiful, song.

"Carlos."

Carlos only grunts his acknowledgement.

"Carlos, your leg."

Cecil's voice is filled with both horror and curiosity, as though he'd discovered--

Oh. Oh God no.

His right pant leg is pulled up to his knee and Cecil touched the rusted, worn metal of his prosthetic and he wanted to throw up right then and there and

"Look."

Cecil's left leg is propped up on his knee, his own pants pulled up to reveal the mangled and uneven flesh of a burn scar that never healed properly. His ankle is permenantly twisted into a position that looks absolutely horrid, how the man can even walk is a miracle in itself.

"We match," Cecil whispered, and Carlos could only nod, tears welling in his eyes.

 

VI.

 

"The 1983 Earthquake Dust Fire," Cecil explained, taking a sip of coffee. "I was 7 when it happened."

When Carlos had finally found the strength to invite Cecil out for a cup of coffee, he wanted to learn more about the man's leg and certainly did not want to kiss those wonderful lips again because he definitely didn't get goosebumps when he so much as thought about the first one.

Cecil continued talking, paying no mind to the scientist staring at his mouth. "I can't say I remember much about it, only that my house got burned down while I was in it. Someone pulled me out of the rubble after it landed, but the fire had gained sentience and grabbed my leg."

"Do you know who it was who saved you?" Carlos asked distantly, moving his gaze to the other man's Adam apple.

"No idea. I would assume it was a fireperson or police officer stationed outside."

A waitress appeared at their table and placed a piece of pie in front of both of them. Carlos stabbed the pie with his fork, thinking. "Your ankle looks like it never healed properly, like your scars. Doesn't it hurt to walk on?"

Cecil shrugged. "I have a cane, but mostly I just tough it out. I've gotten used to it."

Carlos couldn't imagine having the strength, much less the humility, to do something like that.

 

VII.

 

"I believe in you, Carlos. You can do it."

But he can't. He can only give out a choked sob and clutch the railing, trembling in fear. Everyone is watching him, their faces stretched in sympathetic smiles.

Teddy and Steve, who turned out to be a retired paramedic, stood on the stairs, ready to catch him if he fell. Tamika and Barton Donovan hop up and down to get a better until an Erika picked them up and placed the children on its shoulders. Dana held up a camera, recording his every move. He knows the entire town would have been there if it hadn't been for some sort of temporal shift that forced everyone into different dimensions of Night Vale.

Cecil squeezed Carlos's hand and then wrapped his arm around his waist. "I'm ready when you are."

He isn't ready, he'll never be ready, but Cecil was already taking first step and he had to move and he steels himself for the inevitable fall and--

The crowd burst into a chorus of cheers. Carlos opened his eyes, though he's not sure when he closed them, and saw that he was on the second step, still standing upright. He looks at Cecil, who looks like he's ready to burst into tears.

For the first time since he built it, Carlos was walking with only one leg. The idea of being without it had been too much for so long, but here he was.

He was alive. He survived. For that, he was thankful.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me at either my [Carlos RP blog](http://botanyisnotscientific.tumblr.com/) or [my personal blog.](http://lauriesgotagun.tumblr.com/)


End file.
